


The Sound of Distant Thunder

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Series: Night Hymns [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:51:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds out Sherlock not only likes him to top, but he likes John to take control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Distant Thunder

John was nearly giddy with adrenaline as they arrived back at the flat. The afternoon sun was bright through the windows as Sherlock swept off his coat and scarf. John admired the grace in Sherlock’s body as he shrugged off his own jacket. Sherlock moved into the kitchen to check one of his experiments before John could move from the doorway.

As Sherlock bent over the table, John found himself seized with a sudden urge to push his flatmate the rest of the way down and do what he wanted until Sherlock begged.

Shaking his head slightly, John turned away and grabbed his laptop instead. Perfectly normal reaction to being in a fight, he reminded himself. The adrenaline kicked up and brain chemicals did their thing. He thought about ducking into the bathroom for a wank, but Sherlock would know exactly what he was doing. Instead he opened up a new document and started making notes about the latest case.

After about a page of notes, something clattered in the kitchen. John glanced over to see Sherlock leaning over the table, hair falling over his face, hiding it from John’s vision. Licking his lips, John sighed and turned back to his work.

The sun was starting to set when John’s stomach reminded him they hadn’t eaten all day. “I’m going to get some take-away,” he announced, getting up and reaching for his jacket. Sherlock ignored him like usual and kept his eyes on his work while John walked out.

When John returned Sherlock was on the couch watching crap telly. He took the food John placed in his hands without interrupting his running commentary. As he ate, John thought about how damned domestic they’d become. Everyone looked to John for help handling Sherlock, but there were plenty of times he didn’t even know what was going through man’s mind. Glancing over, he thought about their sometimes nights. No one had any idea about those.

Food sitting in his stomach, John watched another hour or so of telly before heading up to bed. Sherlock hadn’t so much as spoken to him since they’d arrived home. In his general direction, sure, but John might as well be the skull on the mantle.

Coming up the stairs to his bedroom, the room was suddenly too warm. He stripped naked and crawled between the cool sheets. What the hell was wrong with him, mooning over Sherlock like some teenage girl? Clearly Sherlock came to his room for physical release, that was all. Yes, John enjoyed it, but not as if it meant _anything_.

Still, his mind returned to the day’s case and the chase at the end. His heart sped up at the memory, Sherlock stretched out in a run in front of him. His hand flexed as he remembered punching the bastard. Sherlock had pointed out it was unnecessary, but it had felt good to John. Lestrade made no comment as they took the man under arrest.

Sherlock looked at him as they got in the cab home. John’s hand stole downward as he remembered the pleased look in his eyes. Taking himself in hand he focused on his flatmate while the moon rose outside his high window. Sherlock’s eyes. His memory turned to Sherlock arching beneath him, the tightly controlled detective coming undone, throat stretching as his head thrashed. Dark curls splashing across the pillow. A tiny moan escaped John’s lips.

Footsteps on the stairs stilled his hand. John raised his head as Sherlock paused in the doorway, wearing just his dressing gown, tied loosely at the waist. Licking his lips and biting his lip, John sat up as Sherlock came into the room with ghostly steps, barely making a sound on the wood floor. Pausing at the edge of the bed he offered something to John. John automatically reached out his hand and the bottle of lube dropped into his palm.

Smoothly dropping his robe, Sherlock slipped into the bed, moving the covers away and arranged himself across John’s lap. John’s cock pressed lightly against his hip, while Sherlock’s hung between John’s thighs. John looked down at him and felt a flare of anger. Did Sherlock just expect him to…? But of course he did. Anger slipping away, John caressed Sherlock’s back, shifting him just slightly for comfort. Sherlock pillowed his head in his arms, looking away, the curls again hiding his face.

John ran one hand along Sherlock’s bottom while the other hand uncapped the lube. Sherlock gasped as the cold lube drizzled around his hole. John stroked the tight muscle with his quickly lubed fingers. “Don’t forget to breathe,” he chided gently, stroking Sherlock’s ribs. The other man let go of a low moan and John planted his free hand low on Sherlock’s back to keep him still as he pressed a finger inside. Sherlock tried to jerk back against him, but John kept him in place, spreading his thighs a little wider as Sherlock thrust uselessly at the empty space.

John’s finger’s moved a little faster, stretching, spreading his lover. Sherlock’s low moans went straight to his groin, banishing any momentary doubts from his mind. Whatever reason Sherlock had for coming to him, right now all that mattered was that he was here. Even if it was only in the darkest hours, Sherlock was his.

Deciding Sherlock was ready, John grabbed a pillow and shifted Sherlock off his lap, tucking a pillow beneath his hips as he settled him face down in the bed. His lover was utterly pliable, his cock thrusting slowly in anticipation the only sign of how badly he wanted this.

John knelt behind him and Sherlock spread his legs wider as he felt the bed dip. John slicked himself, watching Sherlock’s tiny thrusts. For half a moment he was tempted to leave him like that, to get himself off and see if the other man would ignore him then.

Instead, John lined himself up and pressed inside, forcing another muffled moan from Sherlock’s beautiful lips. He pushed back and John worked himself deeper, settling into a steady rhythm that drove Sherlock into the bed. John’s hand came around Sherlock’s hip and he wrapped a firm hand around the man’s cock. Sherlock cried out and thrashed against his touch.

John watched him writhing against his touch, face buried against the bed, muffling his cries as his hands tangled in the sheets. A thrill of power spiked along John’s spine. He, John Watson, had the great genius at his mercy. Ducking his head and grabbing Sherlock’s hips with both hands, John thrust harder and deeper, wringing a primal cry from the man beneath him.

Leaning farther forward, John grabbed a handful of hair and forced Sherlock’s head back. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he growled, mouth not quite reaching Sherlock’s ear. “You want me to pin you down and fuck you. Maybe even hurt you?” A pleading whimper escaped Sherlock’s lips. Dropping his hair, John grabbed Sherlocks arms and quickly pinned his wrists behind his back with one strong hand. The other one returned to Sherlock’s hair, pulling his head back again.

His lover panted in short gasps as John drove him hard, bordering on ruthless. There was no room for Sherlock to move, so he keened his pleasure, no longer muffled by the bed, but John was too far gone to even care. A few more strokes and John shouted Sherlock’s name as he came, the first time he’d done that since they’d begun these night visits.  Letting go, John collapsed against Sherlock’s back, panting. Unsure if his lover had even came, guilt wormed into his belly.

Sherlock shifted and carefully rolled over, gathering John in his arms. As Sherlock pulled him up a bit, John found there was indeed a very wet spot on Sherlock’s stomach. “Thank you,” rumbled Sherlock, in a voice so soft is was like distant thunder.

John was surprised. He started to speak, but closed his mouth as Sherlock tucked him up against his side. Whatever he might have said, it didn’t matter now. Closing his eyes he fell asleep to the drum of Sherlock’s very human heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to art any of this, I'll love you forever...
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


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